


ghosts amongst us all

by aryelee



Category: The Underland Chronicles - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Angst, Gen, Visions AU, this is really just me making gregor sad before sad stuff happens lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:40:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26058112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aryelee/pseuds/aryelee
Summary: Gregor has always seen things differently -- literally. He sees ghosts-that-aren't-ghosts and dreams of strange people surrounded by stone. It's all just strange things that Gregor is fine with ignoring, right up until he finds himself among the people he's been Seeing for years.or: the Future Sight Gregor AU, where Gregor can see visions of people in the future overlayed with the present, and it doesn't make things any better.
Relationships: Gregor Campbell & Luxa, Gregor Campbell & Margaret "Boots" Campbell
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10
Collections: TUC Week, TUC Week 2020





	ghosts amongst us all

**Author's Note:**

> for TUC Week 2020 day four: AU day
> 
> im like two days late w this bc i had to physically restrain myself from making this super long lol

Gregor used to think the apartment complex was haunted. He’d see faded, barely there people walking through walls or disappearing mid-step. He was so sure these were ghosts, until he mentioned them and found that no one else saw what he saw.

His dad carefully explained that while ghosts _could_ be real, there were plenty of explanations of why their home wasn’t haunted. He spoke of old buildings and how weather affects them, how certain vibrations in the air made people anxious for no reason, how there were always people walking around that caused strange sounds.

Gregor never told his dad that it didn’t explain why he’d watch these see-through people, all pale and colorless, disappear before his eyes. He would think about it, but he’d never say it.

And so Gregor grew up, surrounded by ghosts-that-were-not-ghosts.

He never mentioned them again.

By the time he was eleven, Gregor knew better than to tell people about the things he’d see. It’s not like it mattered anyways; his dad had been missing for two years, and these ghosts-that-were-not-ghosts never bothered him.

(He had, once, tried to get a ghost-that-was-not-a-ghost’s attention, but it didn’t seem to see him. Didn’t notice him at all really. He stopped trying after that day.)

But he couldn’t ignore how it wasn’t _just_ people he’d see disappearing around the apartment complex; sometimes he’d see giant bats vanish into the ceiling, or giant rats turn a corner and leave no trace behind. And sometimes, he’d see the ghosts-that-were-not-ghosts _talk to each other_. He could never hear what was being said, but they’d speak, gesturing wildly, with looks of distress clear on their faces.

Gregor would watch them interact, feeling like he was watching an old, soundless movie, and wonder what could make them so upset.

Not that it really mattered, in the end.

They’d disappear, and Gregor would go back to waiting for his dad to reappear.

Gregor dreams of falling, often. It’s one of his most common recurring nightmares. Falling, endlessly, into the void. He knows there are others around him but it’s too dark to see and it’s not like he can hear their screams above his own.

The other dreams he has tend to be less traumatizing. Some nights he’d dream of a young man in a flooded orchard, trying to save others. Or he’d dream of a young girl sitting silently in a large room, alone and silent, never moving.

Those dreams were harder to remember. All blurry around the edges and fading away quickly once he woke up.

What remained of the dreams, though, was the feeling of a noose tightening around his neck, a feeling that something horrible was going to happen/happening/already happened, and he’d be unable to fall asleep for the rest of the night.

So it takes a moment to remember that he’s not dreaming when he falls down the vent right behind Boots.

He laughs when Boots outsmarts the girl by poking her in the eye, but it dies in his throat the moment he gets close enough to see her eyes.

He remembers: a stone room with a large, empty bed in it. It looks unused.

He remembers: a young girl sitting in the corner of that room, never moving, never speaking.

He remembers: someone reaching out to her, and how she doesn’t respond.

“I know you,” Gregor says, “How are you real?”

“I beg your pardon?” she says — _Luxa_ says, because, somehow, _he knows her name_.

“You’re the girl in the room, the one with the large bed and you’d always be in the corner and you’d never move. You’re her.”

Luxa’s eyes harden. The haughty persona she took on drops immediately as she tenses and stares him down.

“How do you know that, Overlander?” she all but growls out.

Gregor holds Boots closer to himself. “I don’t know. You’re not supposed to be real. There’s no way you’re real.”

“Explain yourself!”

“Calm yourself Luxa,” comes a voice from behind her. An old man with close-cropped silver hair walks forwards until he is between her and Gregor. “I am Vikus, Overlander. Tell me, are you from… New York City?”

Gregor’s seen this man before, but this is the first time he’s heard his name.

“I am. Who are you?”

“I am Vikus,” he repeats, but Gregor shakes his head. Before he can say anything else, Luxa cuts in.

“This Overlander knows things he should not, Vikus. Surely it is unwise to bring him in.”

Vikus looks over Gregor consideringly. “What do you mean?”

Gregor, desperate for answers and desperate for this dream to end, says, “I’ve seen you both in dreams. And I’ve seen you,” he gestures at Vikus, “Walking through the walls of my apartment. I didn’t think you were real.”

“Perhaps,” Vikus says, “We should discuss this more in a private space.”

And that’s that. That’s how Gregor enters Regalia: surrounded by the impossible, with two people he’s dreamed about on either side of him and Boots.

“That is impossible!” Luxa shouts with so much vehemence that Gregor moves Boots back a little. “He is an Overlander! There is no way he can know so much!”

“Calm yourself, Luxa,” Vikus says, “I have my suspicions, but I need Gregor to tell me more before I can be sure.”

“Um,” Gregor says, looking at the two argue; this is the first time he’s heard the ghosts-who-are-apparently-Underlands speak to each other. He’s so used to watching them mouth silent words that actually hearing their voices is jarring.

“Please, speak,” Vikus encourages as Luxa glares daggers into him.

“I’ve always thought they were ghosts.”

“Ghosts?”

“Dead people. Their spirits left behind because they had unfinished business. I’d see people like you, Underlanders, walking around or talking to each other, and they’d just disappear suddenly. Or I’d have dreams of people. I dreamt of you, Luxa, when you were little. I thought they were just dreams, though.”

Luxa’s stare loses it’s animosity. What’s left behind is shock.

“How can such a thing…” she mutters.

Vikus, on the other hand, looks less shocked and more resigned. “You are like our founder, Bartholomew of Sandwich. He, too, had these visions.”

“Excuse me?”

“Come, Gregor, there is much to explain to you.”

And that’s how Gregor finds out that not only is he some sort of psychic or prophet like Sandwich, but he’s their Warrior as well.

The invisible noose around his neck tightens.

“Overlander,” Luxa says once dinner is finished. Gregor stops and turns to face her. The hallway isn’t dark, but the torchlight casts shadows in strange ways that make deciphering the expression on her face difficult.

“You can just call me Gregor,” he says, hoisting Boots into his other arm, “Since Boots is an Overlander too.”

Luxa is silent for a moment before she says, “Very well.”

Gregor waits for her to continue, feeling more antsy as the silence stretches on. He wants to leave Regalia as soon as possible, look for a way out, and Luxa is keeping him from doing that. He worries that she might know his plans, but there’s no way. He’s been too careful, and he’s gotten good at lying since his father disappeared.

“I want to ask you,” she begins, then stops. “The prophecy. Vikus believe I will be a part of it. I want to know…”

“You can ask,” Gregor says, “I won’t get mad or anything.”

“Thank you. I am trying to find the words. Please give me a moment.”

Gregor goes to respond, but something moves in the corner of his eye and he settles for nodding before turning his attention to the side of the hallway.

It’s… another vision-ghost-thing. He’d thought they would stop now that he’s in the Underland and surrounded by the people he once thought were ghosts. But here is another see-through Underlander, pale and colorless. She stumbles into the light, away from the wall, and Gregor stops breathing.

She’s covered in blood. There are long slashes that cut into her side and her arms. Her left leg is useless, dragging on the stone behind her.

Gregor knows with horrible certainty that she will die.

“Luxa?” he asks, “There’s no one else here with us right now, right?”

“No, there is not. We are the only people here. Do you see something?” Her voice sounds a little… off, but Gregor can’t tear his eyes away from the dying woman to look at her.

“She’s going to die. She’s losing to much blood.”

The moment the words leave his mouth, she vanishes. Gregor’s throat feels tight. His lungs aren’t getting enough air, his ribcage growing smaller and smaller and slowly suffocating him.

Luxa, when he finally looks at her, is grim. Her head is bowed and her shoulders are tense.

“What will become of us on this journey?” she asks.

Gregor thinks of the blood, of the warnings the other Underlanders have given him, of how ghost-like his visions are. He thinks of the ever-growing feeling of despair that haunts him, how the invisible noose around his neck has never been tighter, and knows, more than he’s ever know anything before, that whatever comes next will only be the beginning of the end.

“Nothing good,” Gregor says. “I don’t think much of us will survive what comes next.”

He’s right. He hates that he’s right.

That doesn’t bring back the dead.


End file.
